


Dead On Arrival

by streetsamurai



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Internalized Victim Blaming, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:16:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28624719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/streetsamurai/pseuds/streetsamurai
Summary: A simple job in Atlanta goes south.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 75





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Solo streetkid V. Takes place a few months then weeks before the events of the game. 
> 
> The rape scene definitely starts up like it’s going to be graphic, but it isn’t. There are, however, some details mentioned. Please heed the tags.
> 
> No consistent storyline, planning this to be a series of one-shots in the same AU.

Atlanta’s not a breath of fresh air for V.

Sure, at first it seemed like it. New city, new people, new rules that V doesn’t have to fit with on the streets.

That also meant getting decent gigs was much harder. V’s started putting in time into his netrunning skills, which isn’t to say he had any from the start.

He’s getting a bit decent with some of the tech and specific tasks. None of that is gonna land him any netrunning jobs anytime soon, though. V’s gotta get more than decent for that. And in the meantime, well. In the meantime, the gigs he occasionally picks up make him question if it was worth leaving Night City in the first place.

Hates to admit it, but sometimes it feels like his soul’s back there. Keeps dreaming of its streets and lights. V doesn’t want to go back yet, but can’t shake the thought that he’s swapped one thing for a wannabe poseur of it.

Atlanta is a big city, full of life, full of crime. V imagined his life here completely different. Was supposed to be a second chance, a new page.

Instead, he’s rummaging through a gutter—literally—in search of the mystery digital scroll a client wants.

V’s got no clue what’s on it, only that it has to be serious enough that you’d need a merc to retrieve it.

He’s traced it back to an old abandoned building on the outskirts. The rooms are full of trash, but the plugs and wires woven through it suggest someone’s using it as a base.

Good for V, because it means his search is done: he finds an old laptop atop a bunch of trashbags—has to hide his face in an elbow so he doesn’t puke—and downloads the scrolls. The nature of them is that they’re unique, not just lines of data that can be copied over, but a solid system that exists in the digital format instead of a physical one and can’t be spread over a bunch of copies.

V’s got a better handle of the specifics now, though he’s still a bit wobbly on the exact technology. But all he needs for the job is right here—V jacks in, snatches the scrolls, and his thievery gig is done.

Now off to play the courier.

V’ll remember this day later, and he’ll hate himself for this. For getting cocky, for thinking the job’s too easy, for letting his guard down.

As it is, V exits the room, does a quick scan of the common area littered with garbage as he heads to the exit. And maybe it’s the fucking garbage, the familiar logo of the black market pineapple pizza that he just now realises isn’t actually illegal in this city—V misses it, misses the glint of a sight trained on him.

The shock of the tazer charge knocks the wind out of him. He crashes, banging his head as he goes down, but the pain doesn’t clicks as his whole body is frozen rigid from the charge.

Ah, _fuck_. The ganger he didn’t see stands over him now, swings with the butt of his rifle, and everything goes black.

V wakes up groggy. Consciousness comes in waves. V hasn’t noticed the first one, but it’s followed with the sounds, then the pain, then his sight, but it takes awhile before he can actually comprehend words.

Feels like waking up from a major chrome surgery, changing the operating system firmware or the like.

As soon as that association rolls around, V realises with a startle that the taste in his mouth is exactly the same as from the drugs Padre’s ripperdoc used.

V jerk, but his body’s kept in place by the constraints. Gathering his bearings, V finds himself in an empty room. Not clinical, but definitely the type for black market surgeries.

The surgical chair V’s lying in is just the cherry on top.

Heart hammering in his chest, V tries to access his OS, the cyberdeck, the map, _anything_ , but all requests are denied.

“Finally.” A man’s voice startles him even more. V grits his teeth, readying himself for anything. “Hey! He’s awake!”

“Didn’t take a full day or anything,” another guy grumbles and they both step into V’s view.

V wants to recoil seeing one of them with a tray of ripper stuff. Notes the loaded and ready for use indicator on the anesthesia gun is green.

They seem to catch his line of sight. “What? Thinkin’ we gonna torture you? Take your chrome? Nah.” The guy checks something above V’s head; V realises there’s a lit screen behind him. “Don’t got anythin’ worth takin’ anyway.”

“The fuck am I doing here, then,” V says. Grits through his teeth to hide the weakness in his voice. He isn’t pissing his pants, but he did just wake up from a blow to the head and some drugs, and that combo makes his head feel like it’s filled with lead.

“Uh, not much. We’re doin’ all the work. You’re just gonna... sit back. Relax. You might even enjoy this.”

V tries to kick out with his leg, wiggle it out of its strap, anything.

“Lookin’ ready to me,” the second guy says.

The fucking _mystery_ of this is almost as bad as being tied down, and V can’t help but indulge the assholes. “Ready for fuckin’ _what?_ ”

“You’ll see,” the guy above him says. “And nah, not yet. Pain levels’re too high. Don’t wanna give ‘em a headache.”

Pain levels—they’ve got cyberware to monitor his pain levels. V tries to access his diagnostics, but he’s locked out from that, too.

“Drug him? Thought that was the plan.”

“Yep. Gimme the gun.”

V does jump at that, but lets himself relax a little as he sees the guy reach for the anesthesia gun on the tray. He pierces the skin on his neck.

“This’d take the edge off,” he says.

Clearly. After a few moments, V feels like the brain’s gone from his head.

“Won’t get you high, just get rid of the headache. Will dull the worst of the future pain too, but not all of it.”

“Don’t wanna dull the whole BD,” the second guy says, smirking.

BD. They’re filming a fucking braindance, rummaged through his brain to install the tech while he was out. V’s furious. He wants to get his hands around both their necks and choke them to death for this.

“Snuff?” he says instead. All he can do but kick against the restraints, anyway. “You filmin’ fuckin’ _snuff_ dance here, this what’s this all about?” Fucking preem—left for Atlana to die in a snuff movie for sick fucks.

“Snuff? Really? Why’d we bother with the painkiller?” The first guys waves the gun in his face.

“Wouldn’t need to handpick a snuff victim, either,” the second guy says, stepping closer. His eyes roam all over V, lingering on his stomach with the blackened chrome installed there, tattoed petals weaving from it. Used to be a bigger floral piece on his stomach, but had to be replaced with parts of the organs when V got stabbed andimpaled on a rusty pipe. “Nice abs,” bastard mocks the implant. “Nice tatts.”

Frozen, V swallows, then swallows again when the bile raises in his throat.

Yeah.

He’s getting it. “C’mon,” he starts. Fuck it. Pleading isn’t—he isn’t pleading, but he would if it’d work. “This is ridiculous. You—me? _Me?_ I’m not—“ _Just don’t do this._

“Like we said, handpicked. Very pretty, I gotta admit. Gonna shoot somethin’ special. Gay gangbang, chic’s point of view? Very rare. Big market for a BD like that. I mean, not... _big_ , but that’s what makes the price sweeter.”

Was this a setup? Did the client fuck V over? Did the fixer?

Have V been marked by these assholes even earlier?

He doesn’t even realise he’s struggling against the restraints. It’s true, whatever they just gave him only took away the leaden weight in his head. He’s pulling with all his strength and that’s gonna leave bruises, and the pain from it and the restraints cutting the skin is very, very real. V ignores it. Manages to get his right hand out, grabs the closest one—fucker squeaks like a pig—only to get backhanded again.

Smashes the asshole’s head against the chair, lets him drop on the floor, clutching his nose.

V doesn’t lose any time, gets to unbuckling his other arm. The second guy seems to not even know what to do other than to try and slap him again—typical techie, this fucking roach.

“Fuck it! Just roll it!” the first guy cries, presses something on the screen and makes it out of the room, still clutching his face.

V’s about to get his second leg out when a pair of hands grabs him from behind. They try to grab him by the hair—might as well get their nails into his scalp, it’s too short—and slam his head against the edge of the chair, a spot just above where the first guy got his nose broken.

V falls off the chair, jumps to his feet. Doesn’t realise when the ground gets more vertical with another backhand, just scrubs himself off the floor—except there are more men now, and they’re holding him down. One unbuckles his belt and wraps it in an eight around his wrists, locking them behind V’s back.

They raise him off the floor then push down to his knees.

Later, V’ll decide one of the bastards hitting his head is why his memory is so fucked. It’s got holes in it, literally, just black spots when V can’t see anything.  


He does remember hands on him, holding him down, laughter, being passed around, biting, getting slapped for that.

Not much details beside that. V can’t even recall what happened after what, or the number of men, or how long it lasted. Sure felt like it went on forever, but he was waking up outside to the sun burning his eyes like it’s barely been a second. Scrambling himself to roll over the wall of the dumpster, landing on the dry, hot asphalt, then roaming around like a drunk man in search of anything. Pants, preferably, but a gun to go back and finish the bastards would do.

V’s pretty sure there were people. Someone passed him by. Probably didn’t look too much into a half-naked guy dumpster diving. V doesn’t blame them.

Thing is, despite only remembering jagged snippets, V’s body acts like it remembers everything. Even now, lying in the cot in Mama Welles’s basement, Jackie snoring on the opposite side of the room, V can’t help it.

He keeps a palm over his mouth, covering his nose too. Both to get his breathing under control and so he won’t have to scrub the puke off the carpet if he does throw up.

His hands are shaking, and his brain goes into a literal frenzy. He’s in a room with no windows and it’s dark and it doesn’t make any sense because Jackie is here.

But V rolls off the cot, landing face first on the carpet, pushes himself up and frantically scrambles to the door, looking for the light switch, turns it on max.

Jackie stirs, a hand goes to cover his eyes from the bright light. “Mierda...” he says. “What time is it?”

“It’s late,” V says, biting down on his lips. He has to sound normal, put together, just a half-asleep idiot. “Sorry, was goin’ back from the bathroom...”

He flips the switch again. Jackie grumbles and goes back to sleep.

Just those few seconds have helped with the worst of it, though. V goes back to his cot, climbs under the blanket. He’s back here. Back home in Night City, safe at Jackie’s place.

They’re going out for a job tomorrow. Wakako said she might have something for them in the morning. Said to be prepared, because if she’d need them, she’d need them on top of their game.

V didn’t get a wink of sleep to tonight. He’s not going to. The fear’s too stark against the dark of the room.

V rolls on his side, curling up under the thin blanket, and watches Jackie’s form, rising and falling with his soft snores. Wants desperately to step off his cot, move it next Jackie’s, maybe then he’d get some fuck _ing_ sleep, maybe then Mama Welles’d stop fussing over him, worrying about the bags under his eyes and all that crap.

V stays. Lets the occasional shiver roll over him, but stays where he is.

Was supposed to move out a week ago. Had the docs signed, transferred the prepayment, got all the shit he has to his name in a duffel bag.

Mama Welles saw through him, though. As much as he hates her pampering, she saw right fucking through. Demanded they renovate her old room upstairs, and there’s no way V’s gonna be helping them if he leaves. Apparently, they aren’t getting any work done without him.

So yeah. V’s staying right here. Jackie’s presence across the room, it has to be enough. It’s better than the alternative, the empty apartment in the Watson megabuilding.

Gonna have to be enough. 


	2. two

They’ve buried Jackie.

She lets you stay.

She lets you stay.

Lets you stay.

Wasn’t easy. Showing up at her doorstep, telling her why her son is dead.

Lying that you didn’t get shot in the head. That they hadn’t killed you.

At least you’re back. And she lets you stay.

* * *

Viktor hooks his arms under V’s back and knees and brings him upstairs, the second floor to his shop.

Watches V getting slapped around by the construct. Sees the pill bottle fly from V’s hand like he threw it, but he so obviously didn’t. Rushes to stop him as V crawls towards the wall and tries to slam his head against it. V doesn’t fight Viktor, but gets a few smashes in before Vik can catch him.

Viktor holds V in his arms through the night.

* * *

V was extremely wary of Vik at first. He was vary of Jackie, too. Despite Jackie wearing his heart on his sleeve, they _had_ met first when Jackie put a gun to his head.

V was too freaked out by the PD forcing him on the ground, by the knee on his back, to argue. So when Inspector Stints let them go and Jackie insisted on them getting smashed to celebrate the victory, V wasn’t fully in control of himself.

The fear of being around the guy three times his size after said guy threatened V got overwhelmed by the buzzing of nerves in his head. The offer of a drink helped as well. They went back to El Coyote Cojo. There, at least, V could feel stable, as long as Pepe was watching his drink and back.

And then things just rolled, and V let them roll along. Jackie decided V had always been spooked and skittish. V was in no place to argue. Jackie introducing V to his mom sealed the deal; as V’d previously tried to asses, Jackie was harmless and fun, but living under the guy’s mother’s roof, all was settled.

Mama Welles seemed the kind of woman who would sooner kick Jackie’s ass than let any shit she’s not fond of slide in her home. V couldn’t put a name to his fear of men and strangers, but he felt like whatever caused it, Mama Welles wouldn’t let happen, so V let himself give up in her house.

Jackie and him went to jobs together and spent free time together, shared the damn basement, got made fun of in the kitchen and did the dishes, all the works.

Jackie could never waste a minute being lazy. He was always up to _something_ , which meant V had to be up to it with him, which also helped keep the thoughts at bay. The nightmares were getting worse, and V’s panic in the presence of other men wasn’t going anywhere, but the damn _thoughts_ were at bay—that creeping suspicion that V had engaged with Jackie, got into that botched job in the first place because he'd been out to get hurt again. Like he'd been looking for trouble or something worse, and he got lucky he got Jackie instead.

That one risk V allowed with Jackie was the limit. Most of Jackie’s friends were Valentinos, which meant no need to try and get away from meeting the rest of the gang, because they weren’t really friends anymore. There was Misty, though, and she was fun, and V trusted her from the get-go. So the little circle of friends and family was safe, right until Jackie tried to drag V through Misty’s shop and out the backdoor and to the ripperdoc in the back alley.

“ _Vamos_ , V, c'mon, the guy’s good!” he said, completely oblivious to V’s reaction. Went on about how Jackie told the guy V’s into netrunning and he agreed to spot him for the first implant with a decent cyberdeck; wouldn’t shut up how good of chooms they were, and it was only after a full minute of that excited tirade and Jackie literally tugging V through the alley that he actually stopped to consider, cursing—“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of rippers?”

At some point Jackie’d started dragging V by the hand and stopped as soon as he realised it, freezing in his tracks while V was fighting himself to stay in place and not hightail the fuck out of there. His body felt so _light_ and the blood pumping in his ears was almost louder than the others’s voices; V felt it in his body that if only he started running, no one’d catch him.

Still, he just shook his head, tried to slow his breaths so his chest would stop heaving like he’d ran a damn marathon. Misty and Jackie were awfully quiet, and as soon as V could walk without breaking into a run, he turned around and went back to his car.

Bullet dodged that day, but it’s a literal bullet that landed him on that ripperdoc’s table in the end. V was high on adrenaline and blood loss, and that stifled his fear somewhat. He could actually bear the ripperdoc’s touch, because the man was kind of saving his life at that moment.

And so, like a Pavlov’s dog, V’s stupid brain came into agreement with V’s mad fucking heart rate. V thought of the thing as an override, an overlooked exception in his programming: Viktor Vector was there when V was at his most vulnerable, and he patched him up, and now V could see this— _stranger_ —and sit in his chair and let him tinker with his chrome and V’s heart didn’t feel like it was about to jump out of V’s chest unless V jumped out of the chair before it anymore.

Slowly, V taught himself the little things. Like how to breathe when someone new walked into the bar. Not to go rigid when a stranger approached too close.

It was a slow and painful process and went no-fucking-where, but V tried, and he kept trying until Dexter DeShawn’s bodyguard put a bullet in his head.

* * *

Three days later, Viktor helps him down the stairs—V’s on his feet this time—and out his shop.

V’s in some grey slacks, his chest and head bandaged in smooth synthcotton gauze, and Viktor let him borrow a zipped hoodie—the only thing V managed to put on by himself.

That first day, he woke up with his head cradled in Vik’s lap, pills littering the floor, a few blood smears on the surfaces a reminder why V's head is currently splitting in halves, as if the bullet taken out of it wasn’t enough.

And as if babysitting him wasn’t enough, as if saving V’s life wasn’t enough, Vik’s now driving him around town like he hasn’t got a fuckton of customers waiting on him.

“Don’t have to do this,” V says, referring to—everything.

“Got anyone else to drive you, then?” Vik asks, nonchalant. Doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

Misty’s an option. V knows she has a beat-up car. He also knows Vik was afraid to let her sit with him that first night. Vik could manhandle him were the engram try and control V again, Misty couldn’t. Still, Misty was the one to sit with him the past two days, once Vik deemed him stable enough. Out of fear of the construct trying to smash V’s head in again, she didn’t sleep, though. When Vik was getting V ready to go home earlier today, she went ahead to Mama Welles’s to prepare her for the ordeal.

As if a taxi delivering her dead son’s body wasn’t an explanation enough.

So, no. V’s got no one else to drive him. Knowing he’s caused enough grief already, he shuts up for the rest of the ride.

Mama Welles and a bunch of Valentinos are what greets them when they arrive. Like his body hasn’t been through a meat grinder already, V freezes up, tensing so much his muscles cramp.

The day’s sunny, so sunny Vik let him borrow his shades. Night City’s colours are bright and vivid on a day like this, and the sun feels good on V’s face as he steps out.

The goons move towards him, and he backs into the car.

“It’s okay, I got him,” Vik says, climbing out after him.

Mama Welles nods, and V can finally breathe again as the two goons turn to leave.

Vik helps him inside. Mama Welles guides them towards the basement.

It’s exactly as they’ve left it. A bunch of beer bottles. The blanket that slid off Jackie’s bed as they were scrambling to get ready in the morning.

“I want to talk with you a moment,” Mama Welles says, and V looks at her to realise she’s talking to Vik.

Viktor helps V to the cot. Tried going towards Jackie’s first. V’s not sure what exactly in his reaction tipped him off that it’s the wrong one. Nearly tries to fucking tuck him in, to which V just grumbles. Grumbles and _regrets_ , because the smallest vibrations in his throat go straight up to ring around his cracked skull.

“You gonna be alright on your own?” Vik asks once he’s done.

He’s asking about Silverhand. Whether the fucker will try to zero him again while no one’s looking. “I got the pills, right?” V says, searching for the pills and seeing Vik’s already put them on the floor near the cot. Silverhand hasn’t showed up since that first time, and V only took them once. “I... You’re so sweet, Vik. Thank you.”

“If you can, at least get a mattress on the floor. Better than a cot. Your head’ll thank you for it.” Vik turns around to leave, but hesitates near the stairs a second, searching for something in his pocket. “Wanna trade with you.”

V looks up from his hands, empty of thoughts.

“My glasses for this.” Vik takes out a chain with a circle pendant. V squints, but can't make out what it is. “Misty made it. It's the bullet I pulled outta your skull. She said it'd be your lucky charm, V.” He puts it into V's palm, closing his fingers around it, and leaves.

Doesn't take the glasses.

V tightens the grip before putting the chain on and settles back in the cot. Yeah. The mattress.

Maybe later.

He can hear Vik talking to Miss Welles. Falls asleep to the sound of their conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so. this chapter feels incredibly clunky but i decided to go with it anyway. pretty sure i wouldn't get anything done otherwise. if it wasn't obvious, i'm not a native speaker and i feel like it's very clear from this chapter. if you happen to beta-read fics in your spare time and wouldn't mind helping me out..please let me know?  
> also, i'm keeping the status of the fic as finished, though i will probably add more chapters. no consistent storyline, just a series of one-shots in the same AU.
> 
> now you can follow me on tumblr! it's my cyberpunk blog and my only blog rn and i'd love to chat!
> 
> [streetsamura1](https://streetsamura1.tumblr.com)
> 
> ps regarding v's 'you're so sweet', i couldn't help myself. i adore viktor and i adore v's line 'you're lovely, misty. thanks' and i couldn't possibly not put a combo of that in my own thing. in my defense, v's drugged out of his mind and vik is really sweet.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Had to get this story out of my head, please let me know if you enjoyed.


End file.
